


Home

by Oddfellow



Category: R.E.M. (Band)
Genre: (technically housemates), Before they were famous, College, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Moving In Together, Roommates, likely the first fic in a series...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddfellow/pseuds/Oddfellow
Summary: Athens, Georgia, late 1979. A decaying house of worship becomes a home to a new generation of musicians, one by one.Set on the day Michael Stipe moves into the church that would soon become his new band's first home...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





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**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory RPF disclaimer: many of the people, places, events, and circumstances referenced within the story are real, but the story itself is a work of fiction.

Athens, Georgia, was a city full of character, and its buildings were no exception. From the classical-yet-utilitarian university buildings to the eccentric Victorian houses that lined the neighborhoods, it was a mixture of architectural styles and personalities, as befitted the different sorts of people who called the city home.

Still, some of the buildings had a bit more character than others--perhaps a little too much.

When Michael Stipe had been offered a room for rent in the former church that was now the residence of his friend Peter Buck, it had seemed like such a dream opportunity that he hadn't bothered to scrutinize it further. Living with his best friend in bohemian digs, what could be better?

Unfortunately, his expectations dissipated pretty quickly when he began the process of moving in a few days later.

"This is kind of a dump," said Michael, as he took his first steps into the church as its newest resident. He set down the cardboard box he had been carrying and looked around him, taking in the cracked walls, crooked floorboards, and drafty windows of the dilapidated building. Its ramshackle appearance may have been charming from the outside, but the inside was another story.

"I thought you knew that already," said Peter, as he followed him into the church, carrying a small orange crate of Michael's records. "It's famous for being a dump. You came here for a party a couple weeks ago."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You started throwing stuff at the wall at one point. Then everybody else started doing it too. Oranges, eggs, pint glasses, sandwiches. Somebody threw a pineapple--don't know where that came from."

Michael unsuccessfully searched his brain for a single memory of that event, but was drawing a blank.

"Now that I think about it," continued Peter, "everybody was on a lot of Quaaludes that night, so maybe you don't remember so much. I only remember parts of it. But this place looked basically the same then as it does now. Maybe it was a little bit cleaner before that party than after it, but..." He glanced at a discolored patch on the wall. "Scratch that, definitely a bit cleaner before. Kathleen is the only one who really bothers to clean, but she doesn't like to do it that much either, so what you see is what you get here. All that being said..."

Peter picked the crate back up, and gave Michael a slight nudge to do the same.

"Come on, let me show you to your room."

He led Michael up the dark and rickety stairs to the second floor of the apartment that had been constructed within the shell of the church. There were a couple pairs of doors here on either side of the hallway, each leading into a separate bedroom. Peter nudged open one of the doors at the far end of the hall with his foot, and then set his crate down inside, with Michael following behind him.

"Ta-da!" Peter gestured dramatically. "Your new bedroom. And mine is across from yours, so feel free to come on over any time. Just knock first."

Michael set his box down inside the room apprehensively. The bedroom was dark and cramped and dirty, with bare walls and no windows. Instead of a bed, there was a mattress laying on top of a box spring on the bare wooden floor.

"Does your room look any better?" he asked.

"See for yourself," said Peter as he strode across the hallway to open his door.

His room looked basically like Michael's, except even more lived-in and grimy, with stacks of records and books in one corner and a few dirty dishes and empty beer cans in another. His Telecaster was laying atop his battered mattress, which, clad in dingy, discolored sheets, looked even more unappealing that Michael's.

"I think I washed my sheets once since moving in here," said Peter, as he noticed Michael staring at his bed. "It's not like they're dirty though."

Peter sat on what passed for his bed, and picked up his guitar, picking out a couple chords.

"I'm glad you're moving in," he continued, as he noodled away, "and not just because I really need the help with the rent money."

Michael smiled as he watched his friend play.

"I'm glad I'm moving in too," he replied. "But I wish this place didn't look like it was going to fall down on top of me."

"Hey, at least if we die, we die together. I can see the headlines now--'Barely-legal Deathtrap Collapses, Killing Four'. 'Church Rebels Against Heretics Inside'. " He grinned and turned his attention back to his guitar.

Michael left him to his music and finished moving in the last couple boxes of his belongings by himself. He didn't have much, which was fine, as here he didn't have much space to put anything. The few boxes he had brought wound up in the corners of his room. Peter had warned him against keeping valuables on the ground floor, as strangers were liable to show up in the living room at any moment in search of booze or drugs or a general good time. Things could, and did, get broken or stolen. (Not that this seemed to deter Peter from keeping a large portion of his record collection in the front room, but there was simply no space for it anywhere else.)

This was a church with a certain reputation. A great place to get high or to get laid, but not necessarily a great place to live.

It may have been a dump, but it was a new beginning of sorts. Michael hadn't had much in the way of positive experiences with roommates at the university so far, and something told him Peter hadn't either. College might be more liberating than high school, but living anywhere among strangers, if you were perceived as being in any way odd, could be hellish. For every welcoming fellow art student, there seemed to be at least ten frat boys who wanted nothing better than to see you beaten bloody for daring to walk past the wrong part of town at night.

But Peter and Michael were both here now, in this place, together with a couple like-minded others. Maybe they were living in a deathtrap, or party central, or both, but it almost didn't matter to Michael at this point. As he laid in his bed his first night there, listening to the soft sounds of music coming from the ground floor, where Peter was spinning the new batch of singles that had arrived at Wuxtry that afternoon, he felt oddly at peace.

For now, the church was home.


End file.
